Summer’s on Peach Street

There’s something about eating a peach on a warm summer’s eve.
Grass in between your toes and the sun beating down on your forehead
above, birds chirp and caw as the luminous light guides them along their journey.
The sun granting us light for a moment more. Summers on Peach Street reminds me of home.
The familiar smell of cigarettes and fried fish greet me.
Immersed in gospel music, the noise rises as she sings old hymnals.
I close my eyes for a moment and allow my lungs to fully extend,
Allowing myself to capture this moment.
Because here lies an interconnected family, each harboring their own internal defeats.

But love has tethered them together.
A slim brown-skinned woman with beautiful gray tresses plays solitaire, while a repeat of last week’s soap’s drown the sound of commotion in
the kitchen.
A tall figure appears; the scuffing of his boots and the clanging of his overalls echo's around the house. His warm deep skin and eyes hold secrets that may never be exhumed.
They’re southern folks, born and raised in the country.
Their hands have planted seeds far and wide.
And come harvest time, God granted them crops.
They’ve loved and lost.

And after all this time, love harbors them still.